


I try to refrain, but you're stuck in my brain

by heizl



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 1930s, 1940s, Cheating, Developing Relationship, Falling In Love, Friendship/Love, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-War, Protectiveness, Secret Relationship, Slow to update but hopefully will have a posting schedule soon...
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-19
Updated: 2018-10-19
Packaged: 2019-08-04 06:11:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16341299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heizl/pseuds/heizl
Summary: "You're not supposed to fall in love with your best friend." Bucky remembered Steve whispering that to him once."And yet, here we are," Bucky matched his tone."Here we are."They both knew what they were doing was, well, stupid wasn't the right word. Dangerous, risky, inane. It's not like everyone out in the world shared those same views; both their families accepted their relationship, not viewing it any different than say, Rebecca and her boyfriend. But Bucky still was always on the edge of his seat, constantly checking over his shoulder to see if anyone was watching them.No one would know what they did in the privacy of their own homes, how they'd choose to spend their time together — didn't make the hurt any less though when he'd watch couples walking down the street, holding hands, and he knew he could never publicly express his affection for Steve without earning a new black eye for his collection.This is why he'd continuously pester Steve with the requests of accompanied outings. This was their only substitute to being a normal couple, to being a couple at all. They weren't directly taking one another out, but they were there, together, on a date. It was close enough.





	I try to refrain, but you're stuck in my brain

**Author's Note:**

> Recently just rediscovered this story; started writing it back in 2016 but completely abandoned it for some reason, even though it's almost completely done (seriously, like 48k words, dunno why I never finished it...)
> 
> Thanks to the Fanfiction club on the writing Amino, decided to start working on it again and finally get this posted/finished.
> 
> All the chapters need to be revised and some rewritten, but I'll be posting them every now and then, between working on other stories.  
> There's going to be a lot of chapters for this, most are just pretty short.
> 
> This story mainly just focuses on Steve and Bucky before the war, trying to create something more than just a "close friendship" in the late 30's. Pre-serum Steve and Bucky are my favorite, so always thought it would be fun to do a series about them in the 30's (plus I'm a history nerd, so eh... works out well).

 

* * *

 

 

Steve's slender fingers dug into the coarse fabric of his best friend's collar – palms clammy, a cold sweat beading down his nose to plop like a raindrop onto his smooth, pale chin, the beat of his heart pumping blood deafening, pulsing through his skull. He knew he was practically dragging Bucky down to the floor and, quite possibly, strangling him in the process if those red rings around his neck counted for anything. He dangled onto him for dear life like he was some kind of monkey bar, straining to stand on the tips of his toes to desperately match the other young man's quite noticeable height difference; a task far from easy. Their unleveled faces mere centimeters apart, Steve sucked down his breath, pressing against the brunet's lush lips. The angle, awkward, and his nose, a tad bit smushed, and his blunt nails, quite possibly breaching their way through to Bucky's skin – great, more marks – only made it that much more enchanting, like he wasn't already mesmerized enough.

 

The touch instantaneously sent ice cold waves of electricity down his spine, burning stabs from stretched feet evaporating into forgotten irritation. Oh, he quivered, and he knew he'd never let himself hear the end of it.

 

He and Bucky both knew Steve never initiated physical contact, fights aside – the very reason he'd still never taken a girl dancing, and that weak denial at being able to follow the rhythm of music fell short on Bucky, every damn time. Steve would break out into hives at the mere thought of holding a conversation, so this action, bold and straight-forward and powered by eagerness, pushed even him into a stupor.

 

Done on a whim, yes, but this idea? His mind was filled with desired scenarios that only he would daydream about in silent privacy; Bucky's fingertips fervently gliding a trail across silk smooth flesh, the strong, rich taste of something so sweet you'd be in a sugar-induced high, like those times Bucky had dared Steve to shove handfuls of cotton candy in his mouth on trips to Coney Island.

 

What had once started as a harmless crush over the kid that had saved his ass more times than he could properly count skyrocketed into something that Steve couldn't, and sometimes he feared he wouldn't, accept. This infatuation becoming so out of hand he was positive he'd never be able to address this as just a 'crush' anymore. Definitely not after that brush of quick contact, the entanglement of true personal spaces, that overpowering heat radiating from Bucky's strong form throwing any sense of Steve's remaining self-respect out the window, his composure shattered.

 

He'd known Bucky since they were small, well, slightly smaller in Steve's case, so he couldn't like him, right? He was his best friend, you _don't_ feel that way for your best friend.

 

Bucky stared back in a daze interrupted only by drawn out blinks; his widened eyes, whites visible from a mile away, clouded over with something Steve'd never seen before. His body was stock-still like a fine statue, forehead creasing from lowered dark brows. That kind of look he'd get when he was trying to solve a puzzle, figure out something that stumped him.

 

Lingering in the fleeting, yet agonizingly, drawn-out moments of compassion, he studied Bucky's countenance, taking him in, all in, like this was their first time meeting – and boy, did he stare when Bucky'd swooped in without hesitation, pushing away Steve's bullies, who had been more than twice his size, taking a sock to the face and earning a broken nose in the process.

 

He examined him like this could be the last time he'd ever get to be in the same room as this astonishing man, listening to nothing but their competing, heavy breaths. He knew his parted lips were smiling, he could feel the raise of his cheeks, and he knew Bucky wanted to, the corners of his mouth minimally upturned. Or, maybe that was just his imagination.

 

It was then Steve was abruptly pulled from his reverie and he found himself stumbling backwards in his far too loose brogues, scuffed soles squeaking against hardwood, harshly shoved by the trembling hands of a completely terrified Bucky. He knew he had jostled Bucky in the process, causing him to nearly topple over Steve's frame, Steve's own grasp ceasing to loosen immediately; he didn't want to let go, he never wanted to let go. He only slipped away when the sore muscles in his legs tightened with a piercing squeeze, knees buckling with a crack.

 

Exhaustion, willfully repressed, ripped through Steve, no mercy shown in its wake. Everything was quick to turn to static and it was like he was watching a technicolor movie completely out of focus, with the addition of a badly synced audio track, yet it still left you on the edge of your seat.

 

“Steve!” Bucky's speech came through like a firecracker setting off, the clarity of his pronounced voice irregular yet the intensity was enough to cut through glass, pulling him from the rabbit hole. “God, Steve.” Sound jumped to a stentorian level and now it was too much.

 

“Steve? Steve, you there?” Bucky kept repeating his name, overusing that word, and Steve, underneath the pin-prick tingling sensation, felt pressure against his numbed back, a grasp placed on his shoulder. Steve all but grunted.

 

“Honest to God, you're the biggest idiot in Brooklyn,” Steve swore he heard something resembling a forced chuckle. “No, wait, scratch that. You're the biggest idiot in all of New York. I'm not taking you to the hospital because you fainted over a kiss,” another groan left Steve, at that word in particular.

 

“Come on, look at me,” Bucky was exigent, the force against Steve's back growing desperate.

 

“Buck,” Steve husked, squeezing his heavy eyes shut tight before peeling them back open; it was as if a thick fog found its way into the room. Bucky was looking right down at him with worry-fueled eyes, his skin discolored blotches of pink.

 

“Jesus Christ, Steve,” Steve knew he grimaced because Bucky just sighed. “I'm sorry. I – ” Bucky wet his lips. “God, Stevie, I'm so sorry. I – I didn't mean to shove you. At least not like that. You scared the shit outta me, you know that?”

 

“Yeah, with which part?” Steve forced a grin that only became genuine when Bucky shook his head, unable to hold back his own relieved smile.

 

“All of it, you mook.” Bucky's face fell, “But I hate watching you like that, Steve. I feel so helpless, because really, I don't know what the hell is happening. Something like that could kill you –”

 

“I'm not going to die from passing out, Bucky.” Steve stated dull.

 

“Yeah? Do you know that for sure? What if you hit your head, or your heart decides it's a perfect time to start acting up again or, or – what if you're outside? You could fall in the street. What if you drown, huh?”

 

“Where am I going to drown?”

 

“I don't know, Steve. You're creative, you'd figure out a way,” Bucky hurried his words, and Steve knew it wasn't the appropriate time to laugh. He knew the constant struggle with his well-being scared the shit out of Bucky, and he knew the stunt he just pulled freaked him out even more, because maybe, he hoped, he felt exactly what Steve was feeling.

 

“Okay, then answer me this,” Steve started and it was then that he realized Bucky was still holding him, close above as he angled him inches from the ground, Steve clutching him in response. “When is there a time when I'm not with you? Where you haven't caught me?”

 

“I can't always be there to catch you.”

 

“But, you always do.” Steve replied low.

 

“I won't be around forever, Steve. I won't always be here to protect you,” Bucky responded, voice barely above a whisper.

 

“Where are you going?”

 

Bucky froze. “I don't know.”

 

He added, “Alright, come on, get up. Don't you ever faint on me again, okay?” He cupped a hand under his armpit as leverage to pull Steve to his feet.

 

Bucky still steadying him, that was when Steve decided to open his mouth, licking his dry lips – he reveled in the way Bucky watched him – about to put in his two cents before the opportunity was snatched away.

 

“What was... why – ” he sputtered, and Steve's guilt itched at him as he could tell just how nervous Bucky was becoming. He denied any searching gaze Steve cast upon him, looking anywhere, at anything but him.

 

“I'm sorry,” Steve felt the remaining color drain from his face. “I don't know, I just – ”

 

“Don't do that again, okay?” Bucky replied as firm as one possibly could with short-lived, broken breaths. And if that wasn't bad enough, he finished with the word, “Ever.”

 

Steve swore the loud thumping from his chest, piercing and ringing in his ears, died – his pulse stalled.

 

Bucky, the only person Steve found himself hopelessly fantasizing over, dreamily sketching his profile time and time again in his notebooks until they were full to the brim. Steve knew Bucky's face like the back of his hand; he would have never admitted to it, but he could've drawn him with both eyes shut and still captured every detail. From the way his chocolate hair was always parted to perfection to the way his lips upturned to create those endearing smiles Steve treasured to the sharp, strong curve of his jawline. How his chin dipped in the sunlight, newborn stubble littering empty space teasingly.

 

The thought of Bucky not returning his feelings, if not now, ever, Bucky not being his, Steve's Bucky – he grew fraught over the unknown idea of coping, that very concept preposterous. He was fairly certain Bucky wouldn't reciprocate the action – that was only kept away in his dreams  – but, what if this whole thing was really one sided?

 

The way his reddened eyes would be accompanied by sharp pricks when he caught himself admiring Bucky for far too long, bluffing about allergies to get him to drop the subject, which never worked as Steve was, quoting Bucky, “the shittiest liar to live” – all of this served to him as an unpleasant reality-inducing reminder, and he didn't know how to escape from this hole he fell into, because he didn't want to escape.

 

“I won't,” Steve nodded, swallowing the hard lump in his throat, unable to stop from laughing at himself. This whole situation was bad, and now, Steve being the stubborn kid he was, found ways to make it worse. “Won't faint on you next time though, if I did do that again. So, you don't havta worry about that.”

 

“Steve.” Bucky huffed, but he knew he got him, taking in that telltale sign of Bucky biting down on his lower lip, that roll of the eyes that always followed.

 

“It's a real turn off, I'm sorry. Gotta work on that one,” Steve, unable to stop, kept testing the water on how far he could push Bucky's boundaries. “I mean, it is a turn off, right?” His brows raised.

 

“Yeah, Steve, it is,” Bucky responded back much to Steve's surprise, tone lighthearted. Okay, maybe sending his head into a tizzy was all for nothing.

 

“Hey, Buck.”

 

“Do I dare?”

 

“C'mon, just play along.”

 

Bucky groaned. “What, Steve?”

 

Steve snickered at his own joke before he could even muster the words. “Anyone ever tell you you make their heart skip a beat?” Bucky's eyes narrowed. “And mean it?”

 

“You're hilarious,” Bucky said, monotone, but he was well aware he was smiling. “Hey.”

 

“What?”

 

“Anyone ever tell you you're fine?” Bucky shun a toothy grin.

 

Baffled, Steve gawked. “ _Fine_?”

 

“Yeah. You're too handsome for this world, Stevie,” Bucky stated.

 

Steve sneered. “Right. Because pasty skin and shortness is the definition of handsome.”

 

“Maybe you’re just my type,” Bucky retorted, and uh, when did the humorous banter turn a sharp corner? Or, was it ever actually humorous? Steve, befuddled, knew Bucky's shock mimicked his own. Quickly, he muttered, “I have to go.”

 

Gathering his jacket that hung on the back of Steve's bedroom door handle, Bucky swiftly turned for his departure before Steve opened his mouth yet again. He always had to have the last word.

 

Steve did everything in his might to resist the urge to reach out and take Bucky's hand into his own, trace any more against the clothes he adorned. He fell so hard for him that he scraped his knees, which actually, was quite literal. “We're still friends, right?”

 

“Steve,” Words hesitating behind shallow breaths, he responded – meek but, oh, was he sincere. “You think I don't mean what I say? You and me – no, I'm not going anywhere, I can’t. And, the other thing,” he gestured towards Steve. “Let's be honest. You know why I freaked out.”

 

“Well, you know.”

 

“No, Steve. Not because of that… see you tomorrow.” Without so much as a second glance, the door clicked shut. Steve was now left in withdrawal, the reminder of heated tingles from briefly tasting Bucky loitering.

 

* * *

 

 

**A week later**

 

Steve was sat outside the school building, back against brick and legs spread out into the grass. His shoes were touching concrete. It was another unusually humid day, sun shining but still somewhat pleasant. Steve always had this spot he'd go to when the weather got warmer; behind the school's old storage shed where the garden was left unkempt. No one ever bothered him there because no one cared to look. The only person that came by was the one person Steve never got tired of seeing.

 

Steve picked at his sandwich, separating bread from lettuce. His focus started to drift, bouncing from subject to subject: Mrs. Shulark picked _him_ to read outloud a passage from _The Great Gatsby_ , the classes' book for the month but sometimes under pressure, Steve would stumble over his words. Of course, he stuttered the first letter that left his lips and the class snickered openly. He felt extra stressed lately. His mom had picked up a graveyard shift at her second job, which still hardly brought bread to the table, and that made Steve feel guilty, that he couldn't supply for his own mother, being the sole man of the household now.

 

"—hey Stevie,” he heard a familiar tone met by that friendly smile (albeit forced and awkward) that was always replicated back on his own face. That broke him straight out of his racing thoughts and instead left him sighing in relief. Bucky was crouched in front of him, thumb brushing over his shoulder as he turned on his heels to sit beside him, back flat against brick, knees bumping.

 

"Hey. Haven't seen you in awhile," Steve matched his gaze briefly. He'd already begun to wrap his picked at sandwich back up in its plastic cling. Bucky shook his head, snickering, flicking his tongue against his lips.

 

"Maybe 'cause every damn day you come out here, sit picking at your little fuckin' sandwich." Steve shrugged in response which left Bucky rolling his eyes.

 

“Don't think that's why.”

 

Bucky hung his head with a low sigh. “Already told you— that's _not_ why I left.”

 

“Then, why've you been avoiding me?”

 

Buckys mouth fell open, looked like he was trying to formulate a sentence but then he closed it again. A minute passed before anyone spoke up— Steve hated the tension that they shared now. Every day he'd wake up in panicky state, reliving that day and he'd feel his stomach churn with deep regret.

 

"Know you love coming out here,” Bucky changed the subject, “but you don't havta be alone at least, y'know."

 

"Yeah, well,” Steve watched a bird pluck at the berries from a tree, “I don't mind."

 

"I know you don't, but Steve, listen. It ain't any fun when I turn to tell you something and you ain't there. I gotta get up and come all the way out here to tell you." Bucky traced his finger along the metal rim of a thermos. "S'alot of work, Stevie."

 

"Sounds like it," he mocked, Bucky flicking his ear. His voice grew quiet. "...also sounds like you miss me, Buck."

 

"Just like always having you next to me, s'all. I mean, I can't tell you how many times I've had a funny joke and then forgot it when I'm trudging out here."

 

Steve turned to the side as he folded his paper lunch sack. "Not my fault your memory's shit."

 

Bucky pushed his tongue to the roof of his mouth, blinking rapidly in mock annoyance. "Okay, yeah, I guess you got a point there. You win."

 

"Thanks," he looked at him, patting his arm.

 

“Whatever,” Bucky’d rolled his eyes at first (a bad habit of his)  but then he was hunched over himself chuckling, finding himself resting his head against Steve’s, leaning into his side. “No, yeah. I do miss you.”

 

“My mom made the kind of macaroni you really like last night,” Steve's grip tightened on the sack, paper crinkling. “I've missed you too.”

 

Bucky squeezed his knee. He could see him smiling. “Missed your stupid jokes. Made me realize how ridiculous you are.”

 

“ _I’m_ ridiculous?” Steve scoffed. “Think you need to take a long, hard look in the mirror, buddy.”

 

Bucky straightened his position, his torso twisting as he met Steve’s knowing stare. “You really just go there, Steven? After 'm bein’ all honest and sappy with you?”

 

“I really _just_ went there,” he sucked in his lower lip. His muscles felt like they were vibrating, ready at any moment for him to shoot up and run away. But right as Steve felt his body flinch, Bucky was grabbing him by the waist, shoving him against the grass. He playfully flicked the side of his head, Steve desperately trying to grab his hands.

 

“Better watch your damn mouth.” Bucky lulled after a snort. He was hovering over Steve, stradling him either side of his hips. Steve finally managed to blindly find his arms, his slender fingers curled around his wrists.

 

“Awh, Buck,” Steve angled his head; his lunch sack had managed to tip over, and his sandwich was now off in the distance, thrown about the the ground and squished. A tomato was speckled with dirt. “My lunch…”

 

“C’mon, you weren’t even eating it. I’ll make you something when we get home,” he puffed out his cheeks, “speaking of which… you got any plans later?”

 

“Mm, was gonna maybe pick up some new charcoal and paints. But,” Steve grinned at Bucky’s pleading expression, “guess that’s not important if you wanted to hang out.”

 

Bucky shifted off of Steve, wiggling his arms free. Folding them behind his head, he laid beside him, banging his shoe against Steve’s worn down sneakers over and over again until he turned and socked him. “Can I talk to you ‘bout something?”

 

Steve felt familiar anxiety creeping back up. “Uh oh.”

 

“No, it’s nothing bad. Just,” there was a sigh, “you know that girl I was seeing? Uh—”

 

“The one from your math class?”

 

“Cathy. Yeah.” Bucky nodded to his own words. “Part of the reason why I didn't kiss you back, idiot. Didn't feel right.”

 

“I'm sorr—” Steve sucked in his lips at the sound of Bucky snorting.

 

“Stopped seeing each other.”

 

Steve propped himself up on an elbow, practically leaning over Bucky (and trying not to topple over him). He felt his brows knitting, forehead forcing itself to crease. “The hell you talking about? Thought you really liked her.”

Bucky shrugged; a slow exhale left through his nostrils. “Knew _you_ didn’t like her.”

 

“‘Course I di—” Bucky shaking his head got Steve to swallow his words.

 

"You don't gotta lie with me, you know that,” he brought down his arm, hand cupping over the back of Steve’s palm. Steve could feel his breath catch, feel his heart speed up just a bit more, but he willed himself to ignore it. “Whenever we were with her, you were always so distant. Was written all over your face that you were crazy uncomfortable. Guess I know _why_ now."

 

“...why’s it even matter what I think though? If you liked her, then it shouldn’t matter if I do or don’t.”

 

“Matters to me.”

 

“Why?”

 

“You really that naive or you just like playing dumb?”

 

Distant footsteps grew closer and from the corner of his eye, Steve could see a group of figures walking uncomfortably close to their hideout. Immediately, they were scrambling to their feet, Steve plucking up the remaining contents of his lunch with a cold sweat beading at the nape of his neck. He watched as Bucky uneasily looked behind them, arm snaking around Steve’s back protectively; he patted against him, pulling him closer as the group of boys (Steve recognized some of them from Bucky’s grade) yelled, “Fuckin’ queers.”

 

Bucky was looking down at him with a crinkle of his nose. He was _again_ rolling his eyes, faint smile playing across his lips. “Doesn’t matter, Steve. Just ignore them. So, I’ll see you waitin’ by my locker, right?”

 

“ _Okay_ ,” Steve tried to huff, mock pouting but Bucky saw right through it. He always did.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Crouched uncomfortably on one, now soaked, knee, Bucky peered under the sink’s cabinet, tapping at its metal pipes with a wrench. Steve watched as he licked his lips― the moment they walked through the front door of the Barnes’ house, they were ambushed by Bucky's sister who was practically in tears, screeching at them about how the sink started spewing water everywhere.

 

Of course she put Bucky to work and though Bucky asked _only_ a dozen times for Steve to get off his ass and make himself useful by helping him out, Steve still declined. He sat across from Rebecca instead, sketching on the last page in his notebook a cartoon-esque picture of Bucky’s dog dressed in a spacesuit.

 

Turning the same screw back and forth almost ten times at this point— Steve knew Bucky had no idea what he was doing —he peered over at Rebecca. She was absentmindedly twirling her hair, legs crossed over one another.

 

“So―” he rubbed his palm down his slacks, setting the wrench off to the side. His fingers gripped around the top wooden pane of the sink cabinet drawers, steadying himself as he continued, “―you said the Pattersons were gonna be in town for the weekend, huh?”

 

“Mhm,” she hummed, peering down at her nails. “Ma’s inviting them over for dinner Saturday. Steve’s welcome too.”

 

Bucky huffed. “I don’t _have_ to go, do I?”

 

“Uh, think mom might get a little upset if you didn't show up,” she snapped her fingers, “Why don’t you ask Cathy to come?”

 

Steve sat his pencil flat against the dining room table, knuckle smudging shadows against once crisp lines. All afternoon, he couldn't stop thinking about – about how he felt for Bucky. Not exactly his feelings for him, but rather the way their relationship seemed to massively change since Steve decided to kiss him out of the blue.

 

It was like Bucky really had been avoiding him; anytime they passed each other in the halls, he'd keep his head down and scurry by. Or, he'd ran into him a few days ago at the comic shop and, he knew Bucky could feel him staring but he left without saying a word. Today was the first time he’d spoke to him, which almost took him by surprise, 'cause he wasn't sure if Bucky _ever_ wanted to speak to him again.

 

And then, what the hell was with the sudden break up? That girl — Catherine, Cathy, whatever — Bucky had been seeing her for months. Steve never thought they matched. Well, it was either that or because he just didn't want to think they were compatible. Guess he was right after all.

 

Bucky, he had always been a flirt. He had his first kiss when they were still kids, was always making girls giggle and blush, always on some kind of date. Steve was used to it. He’d seen Bucky kiss them, he’d seen him smile at them and hold them close, he was there when he told him the next day that he'd slept with someone for the first time. He remembered how nervous Bucky was, had been pacing around the room until he found himself lying across Steve’s lap, who unable to process how he felt himself.

 

There were girls that had complained about what Steve always feared: being a total tag along. Bucky would never let him leave though, and always just responded with, “Yeah, well, he ain't going anywhere.”

 

Steve thought of the last time they hung out with Cathy; they’d been out all evening, talking and goofing around at their favorite diner. It was getting later, so Bucky walked her home. She lived on the same block as Steve's house. When Bucky kissed her goodnight, Steve felt cold shivers dancing down his spine, felt a deep pounding in his head. He didn't know _why_ he was reacting like that, he didn't want to think he was feeling jealous, or envious even.

 

“—Steve, help me out here.” Bucky was watching him.

 

“Oh yeah,” Steve’s own bad habit was daydreaming. Constantly got him in trouble at school, too lost in the stories in his own head to pay attention. “Bec,” he said, trying to remember what they were talking about in the first place, “Buck and Cathy ain’t together anymore.”

 

“What!?” her head whipped towards her brother, her voice squeaking. “Why not?”

 

“S’long story, Bec,” he waved her off, wrench back in his hands. “But, it’s fine. Ended mutually.”

 

“Still, that’s a shame. You know, the Pattersons have a daughter,” Rebecca waltzed past Bucky, pulling out an iced pitcher of tea from the fridge. “Martha’s her name. Blonde, big blue eyes, pretty face. She’s just your type, you know.”

 

Steve caught Bucky looking at him until he hastily craned his neck, again licking his lips. “Nah, ‘m fine.”

 

“So you’re in love then. _”_

 

Steve snorted, both their heads turning in his direction. He felt the tips of his ears burning.

 

“ _What_?” Bucky asked, monotone.

 

Rebecca started counting her fingers, setting the pitcher down. “You broke up with a girl you got along with… I mean, you introduced her to grandma and grandpa, thought it was gonna be something serious. You won’t even see about the other one, even though she’s the kinda girl you _always_ go for. Clearly you got your heart set on someone. Soooo, who is it?”

 

“It’s no one,” his response was almost too fast.

 

“Tell me!”

 

“Jesus, Bec, drop it.”

 

“Not ‘til you tell me who it is! I can see it in your eyes, Bucky.”

 

“My _eyes_?”

 

“You get this soft expression, like everything about you relaxes,” she added with a smirk, “which is rare.”

 

Bucky huffed, throwing the wrench on the ground, the metal clanking with the tiles. Sitting beside Steve, the chair he dragged screeched against the flooring. He crossed his arms against his chest, leaning back with a foot pressed against the table, gently rocking himself back and forth. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.” He tapped on Steve’s drawing, whispering with a chuckle, “I like that, s’pretty cool.”

 

Steve cocked his head at the sound of Cosmo’s collar jingling, the golden retriever prancing into the room, nails tapping as he barked excitedly. “Speak of the devil,” he pushed his paws against Steve’s thigh, Bucky leaning over to scratch under his chin.

 

“Give me a hint at least,” she sat back down, full glass in hand. “Is it someone I know?”

 

“ _Doesn’t matter_.” With a careful hand, Bucky picked up the sketchbook, setting it down in front of his sister. He pointed his thumb at the actual Cosmo (who was now fully sitting on Steve and slobbering all over his face) with a still growing smile. “Look what Stevie drew. He’s gonna send Cosmo to the moon.”

 

“Buck, don’t show her. It ain’t that good,” Steve’s whole face contorted, his fingers running through Cosmo’s short yellow fur.

 

Bucky, with a snort, pushed him to lay down, muttering, “Weighs as much as you do yet he still thinks he’s a twelve pound lap dog.” He clapped his hand on Steve’s slender shoulder. “You’re _always_ saying that, but, you really are amazing Steve.”

 

He could feel his cheeks becoming incredibly warm, his eyelashes nervously fluttering. He scratched the back of his head. “I guess.”

 

“Really,” Steve watched as Bucky toyed with Cosmo’s floppy ears, “you gotta stop doubting yourself so much.”

 

Rebecca’s mouth was hanging open. “... _oh my God_.”

 

They both turned their heads in unison, Bucky asking with a dumbfounded expression plastered over his face. “What is it now, Bec?”

 

“I know who it is.”

 

“Christ, you still really going on about this?”

 

Bucky flinched even before the words left her mouth. And then it came: “It’s _Steve._ ”

 

The legs of Bucky’s chair loudly came back to the floor. His face tightened, chest puffing from the audibly shaky inhale he took. Their front door swung open, his mom’s voice trailing cheerfully from the living room. He used the situation as an excuse to escape, Rebecca’s eyes following him.

 

Steve pressed two fingers to his temples.

 

“Hey ma,” he could hear Bucky say, Winifred replying, “Jamesy. You have a good day, sweetheart?”

 

“Sorta. Sink’s busted, couldn’t really figure out how to fix it. Hey, uh,” Steve held his breath, “Martha’s the Pattersons’ daughter, right?”

 

“I’m sorry, Steve...” Rebecca reached across the table, taking Steve’s hand into her own.

 

 

* * *

 


End file.
